The Princess of the Flameborn
by PrincessDaydream77
Summary: In desperate mourning of her husband's death, Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the flames of his funeral pyre, thus causing the birth of the dragons. Little did she know that the fire had woken the other child that lay in her stomach, and that the child would surpass all expectations of the Seven Kingdoms. This is the tale of Vorsannys Targaryen, the princess of the Flameborn.
1. The Dragon's Awakening

The Princess of the Flameborn

Summary: In desperate mourning of her husband's death, Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the flames of his funeral pyre, thus causing the birth of the dragons. Little did she know, however, that the fire had woken the other child that lay in her stomach, and that the child would surpass all expectations of the Seven Kingdoms. This is the tale of Vorsannys Targaryen, the princess of the Flameborn.

Disclaimer: I only own Vorsannys and the plotline of this story. Nothing else.

Chapter One

As the sun began to set in the sky, the colours of the horizon were reflected in the tear that fell from the eye of the _khaleesi_. In the few hours that had spanned the time since the sun had risen the previous morning, Daenerys Targaryen had lost everything she had called precious to her. _Khal_ Drogo, her precious husband, had been so stubborn that his wound had festered and poisoned his blood for the lack of treatment, and she had been so desperate to save the love of her life that she had unwittingly bargained the life of her son in his place, killing the babe before he had even been pulled from her womb, and leaving the _khalasar_ without a _khalakka_. Everything she had wanted, everything she had needed… all of it was dead and gone.

"Why did you leave me?" she asked the silent air of the tent, speaking, for once, in her native tongue. After a year of living within the masses of the Dothraki, it was strange to speak in the language of Westeros again. It no longer felt right to do so, as if that part of her had been lost when she married her dear Khal, a part that she could not find again. Not without him to guide her. "Why would you leave me in this world alone?"

A rustling of the tent flaps that had nothing to do with the breeze told Daenerys that she was no longer alone. Turning to face the intruder, the woman was instantly calmed from any fears when she caught sight of the metallic gleam of armour. Given the nature of the Dothraki, to rely only on luck and skill, none of her soldiers wore such garments. There was only one she knew of that did, and he was the least likely person alive on the earth to be a threat to her.

"_Khaleesi_." he greeted, with a bow of his head, as he always did, by habit. Even though she was no longer really a queen, her most loyal followers still addressed her with such a title.

"Ser Jorah." she returned, trying with all her might not to let her tears escape into her voice, as they threatened to do. "What do you require of me?"

"It is time, _Khaleesi_." the man relied, not hesitating to give the answer she had prayed that she would never have to hear. Jorah opened his mouth to say more, but Daenerys held up a slender hand to stop him. She knew precisely what this statement meant, and did not require an elaboration to bring her closer to tears.

As she exited the tent alongside her protector, the harsh winter's breeze hit the blonde like a shower of arrows, as if drawn to her regal presence, chilling the tear tracks on her face to dryness. The winters were not usually harsh in Pentos, even when living on bare, unsheltered land as the Dothraki were accustomed to doing, but this felt to be the harshest Daenerys had known. '_Perhaps it is just the cold I feel without him.'_ she told herself, pushing her plaited waves from her eyes, as they reminded her of why she was among the horselords.

Towards the edge of the camp, which had been rather more sparsely populated since Drogo had fallen from his horse, a huge funeral pyre had just been completed, much to the woman's despair. Of course, she wanted for her husband to have the after-death treatment that he had always believed in, but she did not want to let him go. Not yet.

Around the fire, a crowd was gathered, consisting of those who had remained alongside their _khaleesi_ until the end of their _khal_, as was thought to be proper by most of the _khalasars_, a great deal of which being those that the people had fled from, when their earlier _khal_ had fallen from his horse. Each of them watched the blonde woman approached the pyre, and a few of the women began to cry as she took the torch from Ser Jorah, lighting it and throwing it down upon the wood, watching as the two circles of it caught alight, and as it finally reached the wood pile that housed the body of her husband, and the three dragon's eggs that she had had placed on his chest and by his side, though for a reason that she would tell no one of.

Determined to enact the plan that she had made, Daenerys took a single step forwards, and immediately felt the pressure of a steadying hand at the top of her arm, as if preventing her from walking any further towards the flickering light. She did not need to turn to see that it was her loyal bear who had tried to stop her.

"My queen, do not do this." he implored, his eyes as pleading as was his tone. "Your husband would not have wanted for you to die alongside him."

"Ser Jorah, you cannot stop me." she told him, her voice as cold and emotionless as she could force it to be. "I will return from the flames, I know that I will."

"_Khaleesi_, you approach that pyre and you will burn alongside Drogo!" he exclaimed, knowing that the claim would be the final chance he had to convince the Targaryen girl of her madness. However, when she turned to him, her face showing an expression that told him clearly how unwilling she was to bend her will in this matter, Jorah knew that there was no hope for his pleas.

"You need not worry, my good ser." Daenerys told him, though the both of them truly knew that it was futile to say such things, as he, at least, certainly did not believe that it would happen. "I am a dragon, and fire cannot kill a dragon."

With no other words, she stepped straight into the fire, immediately being enveloped in the dancing flames as the _khalasar_ looked on in horror. However, they did not know of the magical curse being broken, and the life that was being returned to the womb of the _khaleesi_.

The dragon child was stirring.

A/N: My first ever ASOIAF fic, so please review! I want to know if you like it so far.


	2. Past and Future

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you to for being my first reviewer on this story.

As the sun rose above the _khalasar_, who remained in mourning, not only for their _khal_ and _khalakka_, but also for their _khaleesi_, who had stepped into her husband's funeral pyre the previous night and not been seen since, as the group who had still followed her had slept with their backs to the dying embers of the flames, to allow their leader and his family to travel to the Night Lands in the privacy that they deserved. True, the _khalakka_ had not been on the pyre as his parents had been, but he would have waited for them in the presence of the Great Stallion, before he had journeyed to the afterlife, as a child of his dependency would always have done, and wanted to do.

Amidst the sleeping group, though, there was one, Ser Jorah Mormont, who had betrayed this tradition, taking two of the queen's own blood riders with him as he approached the ashes. He had always respected the customs of the Dothraki, as he had of every free town and city he had come across, during his many years of exile, in which he had crossed near the whole of Essos, in search of a people he could call his own. However, in this case, when it was his _khaleesi_ that had walked to her death, the traditions could be damned in his eyes. All he cared for was Daenerys, or the pile of remains that she would have left behind her, when she had burned the previous night.

However, as he approached, the Andal saw that all was not as he had expected it to be. Yes, there was a heap of ashes in the dirt, as he had anticipated, but within the cinders, a woman sat, her clothes burnt away from her body, but her skin only blackened with soot, not with pain. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, also coated in the dark the fire had caused, covering the exposure of her breasts where the fabric had dissolved into the blaze, as she stood from where she had been seated, catching the attention of her _khalasar_, who stood and bowed down before their _khaleesi_.

It was only when he heard a shriek from the woman's back that Jorah noticed that Daenerys was not alone. From behind the tangle of her blonde hair, a dark, leathery wing appeared, as two more, a green and a pale, surfaced, one from either side of her naked waist. The man could hardly believe what his eyes reported to him. From the three petrified eggs that had been placed on Drogo's pyre, had hatched three living dragons.

"Blood of my blood." the knight had whispered, his shock reverting him to the common tongue of Westeros, as he did not have the strength in his mind to think of the words to speak in the Dothraki language. The woman before him merely smiled, glancing from the face of her most loyal soldier to the faces of her remaining _khalasar_, who seemed to be just as in awe as he was. On her shoulders, the crimson dragon shrieked, as if to tell the subjects that the blonde would remain their _khaleesi_, and that the dragons would protect her, now and always.

An hour or two had passed, and the excitement of the hatched eggs had just about passed, leaving the queen in peace and quiet, bar for the one man that refused to leave her.

"Ser Jorah, I have told you that I am perfectly alright." the woman had told her guardsman, but he had refused to listen, instead giving her a small smile, as if to say that he had acknowledged what she had said, but still would not act upon it. "You just refuse to believe it."

"Well, _khaleesi_, I would rather you remain stationary for a little while, than sorely regret not doing so." the man returned, the affectionate smirk still remaining on his face. "After all, even the Mother of Dragons requires some rest."

"The Mother of Dragons." Daenerys repeated slowly, testing how the words would sound on her own tongue with reverence. "That is rather an extravagant title, do you not think, Ser Jorah? Particularly as I have so many of them already."

"It is merely the truth, Your Grace." the man replied, deliberately utilising the title that she fought for as the one by which he addressed her, in an attempt to lift her spirits through the reminder of the quest she was beginning. "Those dragons hatched around you, in that funeral pyre. You are as good as a mother to them."

"Well, they are the only children that I will ever have." she responded, a hint of sadness in her tone that caused more than a little pain to Ser Jorah. He had known how much the young Targaryen had longed for a child to keep her company, and how much it had hurt her that the baby had been sacrificed for the half-life _Khal_ Drogo had been given by the _maegi_, Mirri Maz Duur. "I suppose that I must take what little motherhood I can find. After all, I will never conceive again, not if that witch is to be believed."

For a moment, Jorah opened his mouth, willing himself to be able to comfort his _khaleesi_, to stop the flow of tears that was slowly surfacing in her eyes. But, despite his will to do so, the knight could not find the words to speak, and so he stood from the chair he had sat in, exiting the tent without another word, leaving the young blonde to cry into her pillow. She cried for her husband, for her son and for the children she would never conceive.

However, at that moment, she felt a stirring in her stomach, one that she had not felt for a long while. It was strange, almost alien to her, despite the fact that she had experienced the same discomforts once before. Through her sorrow and the tears she cried, Daenerys had woken the dragon.

A/N: Please review, I really appreciate your feedback!


	3. A Feeling Once Before

Chapter Three

A/N: No reviewers.

Another sun and moon had passed in the sky, and the journey of the _khalasar_ into the Red Waste had begun. Daenerys had gathered all those who would follow her, and led them across the desert wasteland, in the hope of finding a city for shelter, before another _khalasar_ found them first. It may not have been the most thought through of decisions, and it may have been an impulsive reaction to her own fear, but the young woman did not care, as she had sworn to protect those who swore themselves to her, and that is what she had strived to do by running.

Under the beating rays of the sun, the dragon queen walked at the head of the group, alongside her trusted Ser Jorah, with her bloodriders stood only a few steps behind her, and her handmaidens a few steps behind them. She had Drogon rested on her shoulder, as she had had Rhaegal the day before, and Viserion the day before that. She changed the dragon each day, so that none should feel prejudiced, but her most trusted advisor could clearly see that she had a particular place in her heart for Drogon, as he had been named for her dearly departed husband. He did not quite like the idea, as he had always been jealous of the man, but it was her choice, and so he respected it.

The ball of light had barely reached its peak in the sky when Daenerys decided that they could not go on, and set up a cover for the sparse dozens to sit below, while she herself moved in the direction of a steep raise in the land, so steep that it gave the appearance of a cliff face rising out of the desert. It was rather small at the top, so that they could not travel along it, but it still interested the young woman, and so she headed up to the summit, with only Ser Jorah for company.

At the top of the cliff face, the young woman inhaled deeply, grateful at the breeze passing over her face, however slight it may have been, as the air was a modicum cooler than it was on the flat desert plains below. While it may not have been by a great degree, it was something at least, and that much was appreciated by both the queen and her loyal servant.

"How far do you think the Red Waste extends, Ser Jorah?" the young woman questioned, surprised at the extent that her voice carried across the empty desert space. It seemed as if the wind would aid her in speaking to the man, carrying the words in the direction of the elder man, as her throat was so painfully dry that she doubted he would have been able to hear her at all. "Do you think that it will ever come to an end, or that it will go on forever, that we will keep walking until we collapse with exhaustion and become just another hopeful group who did not walk far enough?"

"Everything must end, _Khaleesi." _the man sighed in response, his voice seeming a little gruffer than usual, due to the lack of water that he had also experienced over the past day. "Even the Red Waste has to come to an end, though I must confess that I do not know how far we will have to walk to reach the next city, whether it be feet or fortnights. But the _khalasar_ is weakening. They cannot walk for much longer, and supplies are all but gone. We need to find refuge soon, or you will have no people over whom to be a queen."

"But what can I possibly do, ser?" Daenerys sighed in asking, and although she spoke his title in her plea, the elder man was not certain as to whether she petitioned him, the Great Stallion of the Dothraki, or the Gods themselves, old or new, that she had continued to worship, even in the absence of a sept to pray in, or the words to speak. "My dragons are not grown, so they cannot fly to find a city that would give us shelter. Besides, even if they could do, they would most likely be captured or killed. I cannot allow that to happen, and I will not. We keep walking, and we will find them."

"I am sure that you are right, _Khaleesi."_ Ser Jorah told her, but the queen was almost certain that he was saying so for her benefit alone, and that he did not believe in the words that escaped from his mouth. He was not alone, as even with his encouragement to the contrary, she was more sure than he was that they would lose many a member of the _khalasar_ on the way.

"I hope that I am right." she answered his statement, with a slight sigh that showed her tiredness at the situation. Though she did not show it, due to the extent of her own efforts, she was more than tired, she was fearful, more for her people than for herself. "For the sake of the people with their trust in me, who believe that I will lead them to their salvation, that I will make their enemies die screaming. If we don't get out of this desert, the only enemy in sight will be my people's starvation. Even Queen of the Seven Kingdoms cannot make starvation scream."

"Perhaps not, _Khaleesi_, but they will keep their strength for your sake, just as you do for them." the elder man spoke, offering her comfort and reassurance, as he always had done. Daenerys smiled widely, the first time she had done so in a long while.

However, the smile faded suddenly, as a sharp pain coursed through her abdomen, spreading right through the very core of her. She winced at the discomfort, and vaguely heard Ser Jorah enquiring after her, felt his hand on her arm. But she did not hear or feel him, not really, as all she could think of was the one time when she had felt such pain before.

When she had birthed her son.

A/N: Here we go, the dragon is awakened! Please review, guys, I really value your opinions!


	4. Fire and Blood

Chapter Four

A/N: Thank you to Guest and ARavensShadow for reviewing the last chapter.

Daenerys could hardly force herself to breathe, as the agony ripped through her stomach. Her handmaidens had been summoned to the hill, as there was no chance to move the woman now, and Ser Jorah still stood on the peak of it, only a few feet away, with his back turned for the woman's privacy. '_At this current moment in time,'_ she thought to herself, gritting her teeth once again to fight the next surge of fiery pain. '_The last thing that I care about is my privacy.'_

Suddenly, along with the pain, a sense of fear overwhelmed the woman. During the entirety of the time she had been pregnant, she had not thought of how painful the birth would be, and she had most certainly not considered the chance that she would be giving birth on a hill in the middle of the Red Waste. It was only now that she realised how fearful she was, and the extent to which she was not ready to have a child.

As the pain passed a little, Daenerys took the time to glance around a little, so as to observe the people around her, and how they were coping with such an unexpected situation. Even as a child, she had been fascinated by the reactions of people to testing conditions in life, and she doubted that there were many more trying than the delivery of a royal heir in the midst of a desert wasteland.

The handmaids were becoming increasingly anxious, as although they had been trained for many eventualities, one of them had not been midwifery, as the women had always been available that had been given instruction in such an area. The three of them, Jhiqui in particular, were also constantly murmuring about the bad luck of having a man in the presence of the birthing _khaleesi_, as they professed that it would bring bad fortune to the child. Ser Jorah, being the devoted protector that he was, dismissed their objections, refusing to leave her. It was a gesture that the woman appreciated more than she expected they knew.

As yet another wave of pain came over her, far more severe than those that had come previous. When she informed them of this, Irri and Jhiqui went running down towards the encampment, to fetch a blanket in which to wrap the child. It was almost impossible to bear, as Doreah, who had been holding her hand, had now moved to keep an eye on the progress of the babe, leaving Daenerys with no hand to hold. In her desperate state of mind, there was no one else to which she could turn.

"Jorah!" she exclaimed through gritted teeth, ignoring the lack of use in regards to his title, as she did not see the need to observe the formalities in such a situation as this. She expected that he would feel the same, or at least she hoped that he would.

It seemed that he had done, as he did not object and moved swiftly to her side, standing stiffly beside her and giving her a slight bow, as was necessary to her status, though it had not quite clicked with the man that she did not give a damn about common procedures at the present moment.

"Please help me!" she cried, and on this occasion, the man seemed to understand, bending down to his knees beside her. The second that he did so, Daenerys reached for his hand, clutching it as tightly as she had done the reins, when Jhiqui had first taught her to ride her silver. Despite the crushing grip she held, Ser Jorah did not wince in the least, merely held her hand in return, though thankfully with a far gentler grip. "I'm so scared."

It took the woman a moment to realise what she had said, and when she did, her eyes closed in realisation. She was a Targaryen, and no dragon would ever admit their weaknesses, particularly not to a Northerner, and never to one as lowly as a Mormont. That was what Viserys had always told her, and no one had ever dared to tell her otherwise. Hiding her feelings was all that she knew. However, for one of the first times in her life, Daenerys ignored the teachings of her brother. She was a _khaleesi_ of the Dothraki. He was nothing but a fool.

It did not surprise her that her guard gave no vocal response to the confession, but it did surprise her when he clasped her other hand in his, offering a smile of encouragement that made her feel a great deal better. When the next wave of agony came, she moved her head to rest against his shoulder, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood from it. That was when she realised.

Fire and blood.

She needed her dragons. Of that much, she was now certain. Through the clouding of pain, she drew on the command that she had taught them only a few hours previously, and, after a few moments preparing herself, she spoke, her summons coming in the form of a guttural roar. "_Dracarys!"_

Immediately, three shadows were cast across the ground, and Rhaegal, Drogon and Viserion swooped down from the sky. On instinct, Doreah and Jorah moved away, although the latter seemed loathe to do so, and were just clear of the flames that erupted from the dragons' mouths.

"Daenerys!" the knight cried out, as the woman was engulfed in the flickering light. Neither of them could see her any longer, and could hardly stand to be near her, for fear that they should die from the heat alone. There was no choice for the servants to make, but to stand by and watch as their mistress burnt. Or so she should have done.

Once an hour had passed, and the flames were mere embers, Jorah, the only one who had remained, finally caught sight of the _khaleesi_. But she was not alone.

Resting at the feet of the blonde woman, who was once again not injured at all by the flames, the three dragon younglings sat, as if they were guarding their mother. But it seemed that they were not only guarding the woman, as she held in her arms something that induced far more fear in the pair of them than the Dothraki had ever done.

She held a child.

A/N: Finally, the baby is born. Next chapter is names. Please review!


	5. Khalakki Vorsayol

Chapter Five

A/N: Thank you to The Mad-Reader, and Erin for reviewing the last chapter.

Once he had regained the ability to move, Jorah Mormont moved to the side of his queen, kneeling before both she and the child embraced in her arms. As was appropriate for a servant of the crown to do, he bowed his head down low, a sign of respect for the birth of the new heir to the Targaryen line. While his head was directed to the ground, he took note of the red stains in the sand, dried almost black by the scorching desert sunlight, and almost managed a smile. '_Born amidst fire and blood.'_ he thought, the traces of irony not lost in his mind. '_How appropriate for a Targaryen princess.'_

Bringing himself back to the present, the man bowed his head further and spoke in the common tongue of the Westerosi, to give more meaning to the vow he was about to undertake. "Your Grace, I pledge my allegiance to you once more on this momentous occasion. I also pledge my life and protection to your child, the rightful heir to Dragonstone, and swear to serve you until the day that I breathe no more."

"Thank you, Ser Jorah." the woman responded, inclining her own head to acknowledge the pledge he had made. "As the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, I accept your oath of fealty, both to myself and to my heir, my daughter."

At the final few words in her sentence, Ser Jorah finally raised his head, taking this first opportunity to take a proper look at the babe that the woman embraced in her arms. He knew that this was not his place to do, of course, but felt compelled to gauge the resemblance between the Dragon Queen and the babe that would one day take that title for herself, and succeed her mother to the Iron Throne. That is, if they ever managed to win the battle.

The barriers of propriety seemed to have remained diminished, as Daenerys not only permitted his curiosity, but accommodated it, leaning down a little and dipping her arms so that he had a full view of the child, who slept unbelievably peacefully, given the traumatic experience of her first day in the world. Though he had seen all of the Free Cities, and the beauty that they had contained, the knight had never seen something so incredible in all his life. Perhaps he never would do.

Upon close inspection, the babe was even tinier than she had appeared from a distance, just a slight bit too small to fit into her mother's arms. She must not have had room to grow any more, while she developed in the shadow of her brother, but she seemed to be strong little thing. Atop her head, there was the tiniest tuft of hair, the sparse locks of silver and gold catching the light of the sunset, and her skin, a little more tanned than that of her mother's family, due to her Dothraki heritage, seemed to glow as the light began to fade. Her eyes were also shaped like almonds, a trait of her father, but even before she opened them, the man knew that they would be coloured like amethysts.

"She is beautiful, Your Grace." Jorah professed, a bright, true smile illuminating his face, the likes of which he had not felt for a long while, certainly not since the princess' wedding at least. There was something about this child, a soothing notion to her presence which he could neither deny nor explain, but it clear that her mother felt it as well, as did the majority of the _khalasar_, who had heard of the news and gathered at the base of the small cliff, awaiting word from their _khaleesi_, and to hear how fared the child that they now would call a _khalakka_, or indeed a _khalakki_, as was the case.

"Indeed she is, Ser Jorah." the woman replied, glancing down at the babe. Though it was well hidden to the untrained eye, the Andal could see the look of wonder written across her face, and from that deduced that she still could not believe she had borne a living daughter, when Mirri Maz Duur had told her that her womb would never quicken again. She had given up hope, and now here was the young princess, glowing like the beacon of hope that she was for the Dothraki people. "And it is time to introduce the _khalakki_ to our _khalasar_. After all, one day, it will be she that they follow, when I am dead and gone."

The queen's thoughts were undoubtedly morbid for one of her age, but her sworn sword could see the reason behind them. She was the leader of a Dothraki army, and one day, so would the child be. But Jorah paid this no more heed, and instead concentrated on the woman's words, as she cried out in the language of the horselords, each and every ear turned to her.

"My people." she began, her smile having not diminished in the least. The arm in which she did not balance the bundles of cloth, ripped from her own skirt, she gestured towards those stood below, the aged, women and children that now formed her once mighty _khalasar._ "I come before you today to bring you a beacon of hope. Our journey through the Red Waste may be long 'til ended, but I give you a saviour, a blessing from the Great Stallion himself, and from Khal Drogo. For the past days, I have carried in my womb the second child of the Khal, a girl who did not make her presence known until now. As the child of the mighty Drogo, son of Bharbo, she shall be your _khalakki_ as much as I am your _khaleesi_."

That moment, the three dragons swooped down from where they had been circling in the air, landing at the feet of their mother, who raised her own babe high in her hand at this time, showing her to all that stood around. Her face glowed with pride and love and the ending sunset, as the name she had chosen for the child was revealed in an exclamation that echoed across the desert.

"Vorsannys Rhaenyra, of House Targaryen! _Khalakki Vorsayol!_"

A/N: Vorsannys is a name I invented from the Dothraki words, which roughly translates as 'dragon of mine'. _Khalakki Vorsayol_ will probably be seen again, as it is the equivalent of Daenerys Stormborn, this meaning Dragon-born Princess. Please review!


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